


Minefield

by cincoflex



Series: Casa Caliente [13]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M, Happily Ever After, Proposals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 21:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17291360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: All good things come to an end. A happily ever after one.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

 

“I wouldn’t ask, Alex, if it wasn’t important.”

The voice over the connection sighed lightly, and Grissom gripped the phone a bit more tightly, sensing the reluctance and frustration that were weighing every word.

“Yes, Gil, she told me about your father. Not much at first, but over the years, as I showed her my love and loyalty I heard more about Howard Grissom. I also spoke several times with Doreen, so between the two Sullivan women I managed to get a pretty good sketch on the man.”

“I’m not interested in the personal issues, Alex. I don’t want, nor do I need to dwell on the emotional problems of his past. What I DO want to know is what Mom might have said about his business dealings, his personal properties, his professional life.”

“What an extraordinary request! May I ask why the sudden interest after all these years, Gil?” Alex asked softly, his voice low and concerned. Grissom briefly closed his eyes and looked down at the desk in his office. The manila folder was still closed, but he knew the deed to the mine was there inside, as was the letter.

“I think the man left a lot of unfinished business when he died. More than just Mom and me,” He admitted, “Much more.”

“Ah. Well one would assume that if nothing untoward has happened in the last forty years then I doubt anything is going to now, unless you stir up a few ghosts. I’m sorry to say this, but I believe a lot of people are content that Howard is no longer around, Gil. According to your mother, he spent far too much time straddling the law.”

Grissom gritted his teeth, and waited a moment before finally asking a question that had bothered him for months. “Alex, did my mom know about his . . . affairs?”

The uncomfortable cough at the other end of the connection confirmed it before Alex spoke in a low, dry voice. “She knew. Howard was hardly discreet, and apparently your mother was forced to intervene a few times when several of his paramours confronted him over the years. The man was the very definition of a cad, Gil, and I’m sorry to say that, but it seems to be a truth borne out through the evidence.”

“Did she know about his . . . other children?”

The pause this time seemed tenser; Grissom wondered if he’d shocked his stepfather, but finally a tiny sigh filled the receiver.

“She knew of _one_ , Gil. Are you saying there are . . . _others_?”

This time it was Grissom’s turn to sigh. “I think so. Right now I have another, serious issue to deal with, Alex, but I need your help on two matters, if you’re willing to lend a hand.”

The soft chuckle came through clearly, and Grissom relaxed at that familiar, comforting sound. “Of course I will. Family does for family, my boy. What do you need?”

“I need a discreet, thorough appraisal on a piece of jewelry that may or may not be stolen property, and if it IS stolen, I need it returned to the rightful owners.”

“Fair enough. Langley Wilcox would be the gentleman to do that. And what of this--sibling situation?”

“Say nothing to Mom. As you said, forty years is time enough to make peace with the past.”

“I suppose that’s for the best, but be careful. Not everyone appreciates having old wounds reopened, even after four decades. Now tell me about this other issue’ that is so weighing your mind.” Alex’s tone was warmer, and Grissom smiled in shy response, turning away from the glass windows of his office and lowering his voice.

“This weekend’s the date. I’ve already made the reservation and got the ring. Even . . . rehearsed asking.”

“Sounds very like you, leaving little to chance. So much more appropriate than mine.” Alex chuckled.

Grissom stared at the phone a moment. “Appropriate?”

“Well of course. I got the call about Pamela’s death, hung up and rolled over to face your mother . . .”

“—Stop. I don’t NEED to hear the rest,” Grissom blurted, amused and appalled at the images.

Alex’s laugh rang out again, definitely amused.  
“Oh all right, all right—it’s not as if this would come as a shock to you after all these decades, although I appreciate your discretion. So this Saturday night is the big night?”

“Yes,” Grissom choked a little, then recovered, “I believe I’m ready.”

“That’s encouraging. And is Sara ready?”

“I think so. She’s probably aware of the month, and I haven’t exactly made a secret of my intentions.” Grissom replied uneasily. “Women don’t usually say ‘no’ do they?”

“I have no idea, Gil. Both women I’ve asked said yes, but then again, the ring dazzled one of them, and the other has a decades-old endearing fondness for me. Besides, if your mother had said no, she would have had to kick me out of the bed."

“—Too much information, Alex. You do that on purpose, don’t you?” Grissom grumbled. “It’s your way of getting back at me for all those years of poker games.”

“Possibly. In any case, I doubt Miss Sidle is going to turn you down, dear boy. She’s come this far, I’d give her the benefit of the commitment.”

Grissom sincerely hoped so as he thanked the older man and gently ended the call. He turned back and the folder on his desk caught his attention once more. He opened it and examined the lovely deed of ownership for the Seton-Valhalla mine, then smiled, briefly. He picked it up, and walked out of his office, down the hall and turned into a doorway near the back of the lab.

At his stool, Ronnie glanced up at Grissom curiously, then at the paper in his hand.

“One question, but only on your off-time as a favor I can repay.”

Ronnie shot him a thoughtful look and nodded. “Might need an extra day off next month.”

“Done. Is this," Grissom handed over the deed, “Genuine? Not now, but when you get a break, or whenever. No rush on this.”

Ronnie nodded again, and took the certificate, already scanning over it with sharp eyes. “Will do. You want the provenance, history and worth, if any?”

“The works. Do that and I’ll find an extra three days in the schedule for you.”

Ronnie flashed a small, rare smile and nodded.

*** *** ***

Sara patiently fished out another piece of blue plastic from the jumbled scraps in the soggy pile on the trace table. Recovering evidence from garbage disposals was NOT her favorite job, but this one was especially annoying simply because it wasn’t quite challenging enough to take her mind off of Saturday. Every time she let her mind wander to consider it, a shiver ran through her, and she had to clear her throat a little to regain her composure.

Saturday. She was pretty sure, FAIRLY sure, very nearly absolutely sure it would be this Saturday. As in, tomorrow night.

God she was nervous.

All the clues were there, though, she was sure of it. The circled date, Grissom suggesting dinner out at the lake, hinting that dressing up for it would be nice—

Sara grinned to herself and then tried to focus again on the heap of garbage on the table. A footstep at the door made her look up and she saw Clem come in holding another sack of garbage.

“More? This is getting ridiculous! How much did the Legazis have down that drain? Hey, how are you feeling?” Sara asked gently. Clem had a woebegone expression that made Sara laugh a little; the story about the beetle-induced pounce on Greg was fairly well known around the lab by now. Privately Sara was grateful that her OWN experience hadn’t been discovered, although Grissom had been smirking and limping for a day afterward. Even now the word ‘waffle’ was enough to make her blush.

She cocked her head and spoke up softly again. “It’s okay, it’ll die down. You know, everyone’s had something embarrassing happen to them at this place. Warrick got poison ivy from a slide in the lab, once. And Catherine had a skunk run out of a culvert and bite her.”

Clem looked a little better at that; she pulled out her whiteboard and wrote on it. //Okay, that’s pretty bad, but still this is hard—it’s not like I can avoid Greg forever, and I think he—knows a little bit of how I feel.//

“Um, yeah, I think so too, yeah.” Sara commiserated. Greg hadn’t said anything to anyone at the lab, and managed to turn any questions or comments aside with a smile or a new line of conversation, but at times it was easy to see him watching Clem with a new intensity. A wistfulness. “The question is—how do you think HE feels?”

//Don’t know. And that’s what scares me.// came the scrawled confession. Sara blinked, remembering a time not so long ago when those words could have applied to herself quite easily. She rubbed them out slowly.

“So ask him out to dinner. See what happens between you. There’s this great little restaurant out near the lake—not too pricey, but not your fast food deal either—might be a good way to find out what’s on Greg’s mind.”

Clem brightened a bit; Sara wrote the name and number down on the board, handing it back and smiling as Clem headed off, leaving her to face the refuse on the table again.

*** *** ***

To: the Newest Supervisor of Swing

From: the Homicide Captain who owes her a belated congratulatory dinner.

Subject: Said dinner.

Hey Catherine,

Listen, I don’t want to get a rep as a forgetful old bastard, so I’m thinking we can do that shift dinner for you and the guys this Saturday out at the Grille. I don’t know if Rick and Nick have plans, but mention that I’m buying and they’ll probably be more willing to show up. The Special is Alaskan King Crab which I thought sort of suited the host, eh? I’ve got an 8:00 reservation for us, so do that fancy RSVP thing and call me.

Jim

*** *** ***

Greg looked at the invitation on the whiteboard and tried to hide the shiver of elation that swirled around his spine. He glanced up at Clem, and took a pleasurable moment just to study her.

She had her hair up in a loose bun, with a few of the golden curls escaping to curve along her cheek, and her full mouth was done in a particularly nice shade of fuchsia. Not that he cared about the color, Greg admitted to himself, but ah! The texture, the flavor the HEAT of that sweet pucker were memories seared into him.

He blinked, and smiled, nodding.

“Yes. I’d love to go out to dinner with you. The Grille sounds pretty good to me but I have to check and see if my mom’s willing to keep an eye on Wyatt.”  
Clem nodded vigorously; her hair began to tumble down, and Greg grinned. He motioned for her to turn around, then deftly reached up and scooped the curls in his hand, twisting them back up and coiling them on the crown of her head. Gently, he worked a few pencils in until it was all anchored firmly.

“There—the House of Sanders special, ala Lyttleton, who’s always doing this to her crowning glory. Not bad, but I like it down myself.”

Clem looked over her shoulder at him, torn between being annoyed and amused.

He shrugged. “I’m a guy—a woman’s hair is to be played with, end of story. So, what time should I come get you tomorrow, assuming mom’s willing to handle Wyatt Burp?”

Clem held up one hand and three fingers of the other one; Greg nodded, and held up a warning hand.  
“Just to get this out of the way—I believe in parity, Clem. YOU asked me out, so I’M paying. No arguments—“ he waved the hand as she scowled and shook her head vigorously. “--It’s only fair.”

She scooped up the whiteboard and began to scribble something on it, pen flying, then held it up to him. //No way! Come on, Greg, I owe you this, after . . . putting us both through that fiasco a few days ago.//

“It wasn’t a fiasco, it was a debacle. A very FUN one up to a point, but that doesn’t matter now.” He flashed her a grin. “From this point on we’re not doing anything under the duress of aphrodisiacs, so it’s . . .” he reached for the white board and with a sweep of his sleeve, cleaned it, “ . . . Tabula rasa, so to speak. Starting with a clean slate, okay?”

Clem smiled reluctantly, giving a tiny nod of agreement, and feeling a responding giddiness fluttering in the middle of her stomach at the warm look in Greg’s eyes.

She wondered if he liked to dance.

*** *** ***

Saturday afternoon

It was a pretty ring, Grissom thought. The diamond caught the late afternoon light from the window, sending brilliant flashes of yellow, red and blue across the walls and ceiling. Intrigued, Figaro darted over and tried to pounce on one twinkling flicker that moved on the sofa. His claws turned up empty and he gave a ‘meow’ of confusion; Grissom shot him a look.

“Chasing rainbows is often folly, cat.” He chided him, then shifted the ring a little, making the sparkle move on the sofa again. Figaro pounced once more, confident. Grissom admired his tenacity and speed; the house was certainly free of crickets, roaches and spiders these days thanks to the little cat’s unrelenting vigilance. The attacks weren’t so bad, but listening to him consume them was what bothered Sara the most, and often Grissom had to shoo the cat away to crunch up his buggy kills in the back yard, out of earshot.

Grissom sighed. The one and three quarters carat emerald-cut diamond was flanked by a pearl on one side, an onyx on the other and mounted on an Art Deco platinum band. It sat in his palm, looking both delicate and elegant. He hoped he had the size right; it was difficult to judge since Sara rarely wore rings, and those she did were often for her other fingers. He rocked his hand to make it play with the light, and with a careless tumble, the ring fell, throwing glints as it dropped to the carpet.

Figaro pounced.

Grissom moved a fraction too late, and by the time he bent to the carpet, the ring was gone, and Figaro had leapt away, clambering to the coffee table proudly. Grissom paused. The cat’s tail twitched to and fro in a sense of feline pride, and dangling on his chin was the silvery loop of the ring.

“NO, cat," he warned, slightly desperate. Figaro twitched his ears forward, curious as to this sound, and Grissom carefully edged forward. The cat eyed him suspiciously, and clamped a tighter grip on the stone, backing up a step.

“Figaro, it’s not an insect. You HAVE to know that, right? Not wiggling, not crunchy," Grissom murmured, carefully sliding forward. Figaro turned, but strong hands snagged his back legs, and he whipped around, striving to free himself. In a sudden flurry of claws and hisses, Grissom muttered a few swear words and disgustedly dropped the cat, which shot off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Remember the Pacific ocean, Figaro? And who it WAS who pulled you out of a sinking cardboard box?” came the annoyed commentary as Grissom wiped away the welling blood from the scratch along the back of his hand. He followed the cat into the kitchen, grabbing a dishtowel in the process. With speed and ruthlessness, he snagged the animal again and trussed him up until Figaro resembled a large green and yellow striped burrito with a yowling head on one end. Grissom clamped him under one arm and proceeded to sweep a finger through the cat’s mouth fishing between the needle-like incisors. Nothing but sharp little fangs and a raspy tongue met his touch.

“Shit!”

Figaro looked utterly pissed. So in fact, did Grissom.  
The front door opened. Sensing his captor’s distraction, Figaro squirmed harder, but Grissom held on tightly as Sara sauntered in, her attention on the fistful of mail she was sorting as she strode up.  
“Carpet cleaning ad, the water company bill, electric bill, postcard from Sorcha—ack! She’s getting divorced! Oh, and a notice from Dr. Santos that it’s time to take Fig in for his Feline Leukemia . . . Grissom, why is your hand bleeding?”

“Because whenever the skin is ruptured, the most common response of the body is to flood the area with red and white blood cells to combat infection. I think taking Figaro in to the vet is an EXCELLENT idea. In fact, I’ll do it right NOW.”

He flashed Sara a sickly smile and clamped his grip on the towel-ball as he tried to sidle past her; she shot him a look of consternation. “Right NOW?”

“Absolutely no time like the present. I’ll be back as soon as I can and we can go to dinner.” He leaned over and kissed her nose then tucked the squalling straight- jacketed Figaro under his arm and disappeared. Sara slowly set the mail down on the counter, and sighed. She heard Grissom’s car start up and pull out, the sound fading as he took off and down Caliente Way; on impulse she checked her watch, noting there was probably time for a quick nap.

She’d planned on spending it with Grissom, and sleep could have been a part of it, eventually, but now—Restlessly, she wandered through the house, wishing her nervousness would fade a bit. It was a good sort of anxiety; the culmination of a lot of memories and anticipations. Sara glanced up at the Yin Yang, and absently set it sideways, black over white, as she passed the fireplace mantle. Her eye caught the sheers at the window, and instantly her mind flooded with pictures of bridal gowns and veils, making her laugh a little.

“I—“ she announced to the living room, “—Am SO not doing the girlie orange blossom June wedding thingie. I mean, sure this is important, and I DO plan on spending the rest of my life with Grissom, so this is a big change and all, but no . . . . frills. No lace, or trains or attendants and bridesmaids, no. SO not me.”

She grinned crookedly at the thought of eloping with Grissom; just parking the Denali along the chapel strip and popping in somewhere on a dinner break, but even as that appealing scenario flitted by she knew it wouldn’t happen. They both had obligations. A lot of them. Olivia would probably want to see her only child get married; Sara knew her own parents would want it as well. And then there were the folks at work, and one or two out of state people—

The more she thought about it, the more amazed she was at the ever-growing circle of people who probably had an inkling of her relationship with Grissom. Sara shook her head in amusement, trying to mentally list who actually KNEW about their involvement. All four parents, of course. Her brother and his kids. Brass. Robbins. Greg—well, right there that was ten people, and given Grissom’s reaction at the initial ballgame with the day shift, she was sure a few other people suspected. She slowly wandered to the bedroom, sighing to herself.

“STILL not doing the girlie thing. I mean it.”

*** *** ***

“Yep, it’s there. This darkish shadow right here along the duodenal area.”

“Okay. Good. So how are we going to get it out?”

“What’s this WE, Dr. Grissom—I’m the vet; you’re just the entomologist who’s missing a five thousand dollar ring.”

“I’m the entomologist who’s footing the bill for the recovery of said ring which I NEED for a proposal that’s supposed to occur in approximately three hours and six minutes, so . . ."

“—So you’re going to be patient and get the ring sometime tomorrow afternoon. Much as you might want me to carve into your little diamond-chomping friend here, he’s got to be prepped, and I need to book time for a surgery.”

“You can’t just—make him vomit? OR work a flex down his esophagus and clamp it?”

“Vomiting would be a good way to choke him to death—Figaro is still a pretty small cat, and we’re talking a throat with a diameter of about an inch and a half. Frankly I’m surprised he even got the ring down in the first place. I’m used to cats swallowing string, and tinsel, not engagement rings. Were you struggling with him? Whoa, nice scratch, looks painful.”

“It is, thank you so much. And the flexible clamp?”

"Slice up the inside of his throat to ribbons. Diamonds are sharp, Dr. Grissom, and even a beveled edge can do damage. Nope, this little guy needs to sit overnight and have surgery tomorrow. I’m sure your fiancée will understand if you put it off for a day, right?”

“Doctor, whether they give or refuse, it delights a woman to have been asked.”

“Ann Landers?”

“Ovid. Laxatives?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. I’m sorry, but you’ll have your rock by tomorrow, thus sayeth the vet. Go have dinner. Bluff.”

*** *** ***

Sara woke up as the front door opened, and when Grissom came into the bedroom a few minutes later she smiled sleepily at him. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom for a moment, drinking her in, then moved closer, pulling off his shirt and draping it on the rocking chair. The rest of his clothes followed, and as he slid into bed beside her, Sara squealed at the chill of his skin.

“Hey! Too cold, too cold!” she protested as he wrapped around her and pressed close along her spine. Grissom snorted in her hair.

“Sorry. Santos keeps the air-conditioning high. Figaro has to stay overnight.”

“Why?” concerned, Sara rolled to face him, and Grissom hesitated.

“He’s got to pass a stone,” he finally mumbled, then pulled Sara into a hug, mostly to hide his exasperated expression. She clung to him, warm, amazingly soft and strong, her chin resting perfectly in the curve of his shoulder. Rolling back, he took her with him, and looked up into her face as she rested on his chest.

“Poor cat—he’s going to be all right though, right?”

“He should be fine. Listen, if you’re worried, and want to just stay home tonight," Grissom began distractedly as Sara started rocking her hips against his, moving them in lazy caressing rubs that piqued his interest. She shook her head.

“No, no—you’ve had this reservation for . . . a while, and I think Figaro won’t mind. Unless YOU want to stay home . . ."

“Umm?” he mumbled, most of his attention now focused on the erotic wriggle she was making up against him. His hands slid to caress the sweet swell of her taut ass, and Grissom marveled again at the perfect fit of it into his palms. Sexual synchronicity—

“Grissom . . . “ Sara bent and licked his ear; he arched his neck to give her better access, and mentally stuffed all thoughts of Figaro and the ring onto an imaginary file folder labeled ‘LATER’. He tightened his grip and turned his head, muffling his words against Sara’s warm throat.

“How well can you . . . keep your balance?” his tone was low and urgent; Sara recognized that sound and felt her pulse speed up a bit. She slipped a hand under the pillow behind his head, fingers finding the stocking even as she shuddered a little.

“I’m good.”

Grissom let his hands slide up the small of her back and around her ribcage possessively, moving up her shoulders and down her lean arms until his fingers encircled her wrists. He smiled, eyes very blue, dimples deep.

“Show me, Acushla.”

Sara smiled, sitting up and straddling his waist.  
He shook his head when she held out her wrists. Instead, Grissom looped the filmy black stocking around her back, sliding it teasingly along her skin before wrapping it around her waist and arms, pinning them against her sides as he tied it firmly. Sara flexed a little, aware that she could get out of the band around her if she struggled hard enough. Grissom reached up and cupped her breasts, fingers stroking lightly and her satin skin pebbled up under his touch.

“Beautiful. How lucky I am to be loved by a woman unafraid to play, and magnificent in her own right.”  
Sara dropped her head and flexed, rising up a bit on her knees and smiling down at him. Under her, Grissom lay sprawled, his skin pale against the green sheets.

“They say with age comes wisdom,” she taunted lightly, rocking her hips so that the barest caress of her soft folds slid along his warm shaft where it throbbed between her thighs. Grissom’s flicker of annoyance disappeared in a sensual sigh when she bent her head to lick his fingers.

“We’ll see what comes first, honey," he growled, slipping his index finger into her mouth as he used his other hand to reach between their bodies. Sara sucked lewdly, grinning around his digit when Grissom grunted and arched up, pushing slickly into her.

Sara groaned; stretched and full she felt herself held in perfect tension on Grissom’s warm hips and wanting to move. He throbbed deep within her, and she could feel him working to control his breathing, could see the muscles along his chest and neck straining.

“Gwisssom . . ." she whimpered around his index finger. The rest of his fingers stroked her cheek; his thumb caressed full lower lip.

“Age before beauty? Work for it, Sara. Make me come—“ he teased her even as he flexed his hips, moving deeper within her. She flexed her thighs, lifting her body, counter-stroking to his moves and setting up a lovely rhythm between them. She sucked his finger, raking her teeth against the faint calluses, straining a little against the stocking around her waist and feeling hot, sweet pressure building up with every stroke between her thighs.

Grissom felt himself throb hard within Sara, felt the maddeningly snug grip of her supple body around him. Her tongue slithered around his finger in a surprisingly sexy move and his hips stroked harder in quick response as he looked up into her wickedly hot chocolate eyes. Holding his gaze, she pumped a little quicker, adding a sensual wriggle on the down stroke and THAT did it. Grissom rocked up and into her hard, his growl low and helpless as he pulsed deep within her, coming so hard that white flashes went off behind his eyelids. By his third pleasure-filled spasm he felt Sara clench more tightly, felt her teeth sink harder into his finger as her own orgasm tightened around him.

Later, as she lay on his chest, both of them cooling down and feeling content and lazy, Grissom nibbled the shell of her ear and whispered, “You win."

“—Again.” she finished with a happy sigh. “Yee ha.”  
And Grissom laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

She looked like dessert, he thought. It wasn’t the first time that image had come to him, overlaid on her fine features and quick smile. After all, a dessert was a treat to be savored, a special incentive to get through more mundane things, be they a dinner or a long shift.

Given what she was wearing, she even LOOKED like a dessert, and that insight tickled him immensely. Dressed in a soft short-sleeved sundress of shimmery green material that clung and flowed and brought out her curves, Clementine looked for all the world like a sparkly dish of soft serve mint mocha ice cream. She stood awkwardly at the foot of the stairs, reaching to adjust a sandal strap at Greg rose up from the sofa. Mrs. St. Croix struggled to move her bulk out of her lounger getting to her slippered feet and smiling at her daughter.

“Baby don’t you look nice—think you’re gonna need a sweater? It gets cold out there at night—“

Clem shot Greg a resigned look and stepped over to the hall closet, fishing out a fluffy angora shawl of soft white, draping it over her shoulders in a quick, elegant gesture. Greg walked over and smiled at her.  
“Definitely looking good,” he told her in an undertone. Her answering grin took in his casual suit and shirt of light charcoal. The tie was pure Sanders; bright red with a pattern of test tubes and Erlenmeyer flasks in silver thread. He followed her glance and shrugged. “You can take the man out of the lab . . .”

“Now remember what we discussed, Mistah Gregory Sanders. I may be old-fashioned and outta date for a city like Las Vegas, but I’m also one deadly serious woman. You make sure my daughtah is back here by one o’clock or so help me I’ll send out Winston, Royce and Kedar to come fetch you two. That won’t be pretty; just ask Clem about the LAST time.” Mrs. St Croix warned, her normally cheerful face shifting into the stern lines of a Valkyrie. Chastened, Greg nodded as Clem blushed hotly. She moved to hug her mother, reassuring her with a few quick hand signs. Her mother snorted.

“I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. Rules are rules, honey, and they go for you and your brothers alike, so don’t think I’m playing favorites. One o’clock curfew is the laid down law, child. Ain’t no reason on God’s green earth to be out any later than that.”

“I have to get back to Wyatt anyway,” Greg agreed. Mrs. St. Croix nodded approvingly; earlier she’d oohed and aahed over the pictures in Greg’s wallet while Clem was getting dressed, and had dispensed sound advice on toilet training (“Lots of applause—ain’t a boy child on the planet doesn’t like getting THAT!”) and tantrums. (“Set him where he won’t hurt himself and let him go. He’ll tucker out in about six minutes, tops. After that, you can give him a hug and get your way.”)

At the door, Mrs. St. Croix watched them go, driving off in Greg’s Jetta and sighing softly. She’d heard about the young CSI almost daily from her daughter, and as first impressions went he’d met with her tentative approval. Still—an unmarried father and a white boy to boot—

“Lordy, Clementine, it ain’t a different drummer, it’s the beat of a whole ‘nother marching band, baby. I just hope you understand that.” Shaking her head, Mrs. St. Croix stepped back in her house, wondering if it was too early for a glass of sherry.

*** *** ***

“It’s too soon. I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Aw come on, I WANT you there. I think it’s time we went public with this, hon.” Nick murmured gently as he tightened his hug around the slender figure in his arms. “It’s not going to be that big a surprise to anyone.”

“Lots of people don’t know, Nick. I mean they suspect, but that’s different from actually KNOWING, you know? Like Grissom and Sara.” Judy murmured, burrowing her nose against his chest. Nick rested his head on top of her chin, amazed again at how utterly petite Judy was, how perfectly she molded against him. Hugging her was delightful, and always made him feel big and protective.

Not that she needed protecting. She’d kicked his ass more than once in the course of their courtship, and was fully prepared to do it again, squeaking out her apologies afterwards. It was part of her charm, and Nick still couldn’t believe how sexy it was to have someone who could barely weighed more than a hundred pounds be able to pin him in under a minute.

Judy Bates, Dayshift receptionist, brown belt in Judo and 4th Dan in Aikido, frizzy-haired, perky, his. She turned, adjusting the strap of her bra and sighed. Nick eyed her, and then the clock; she blushed, following his line of vision.

“Nick! We agreed that was going to be AFTER dinner—“ she reminded him. He slid his fingers around her rib cage, reaching for the back of her Jezebel Satin Sweetness with eager hands.

“Didn’t you ever have dessert first when you were a kid? Come on, Judy—“ he breathed in her ear, his words coaxing, his pulse beginning to speed up. She quivered in his arms, bones like a bird, little hands sliding down his sculpted chest to follow the soft line of dark fur running down past his navel to his briefs.

“Nicholas Stokes, you’re a bad, bad influence—“ she clucked. He managed to unhook the bra and flashed her a dazzling grin.

“Maybe that’s why I need your goodness to rub off on me.”

*** *** ***

Sara looked in the mirror and adjusted her pearl earring, then took a deep breath. She tried to see something calm in the face of her reflection, but that quality seemed to be missing; instead she noted some . . . nervousness. The tension around her eyes, the pursing of her mouth, the restlessness of her hands as she fiddled with things that didn’t need any more fiddling. Taking a breath, she leaned on the sides of the standing sink and glared at herself in the mirror.

“Get a grip, woman. Dinner with the man you love.” She growled at herself. Her tone must have been louder than she thought; Grissom leaned in the bathroom doorway, looking at her with concern. He was working on his tie, a pewter-colored one with a faint pattern of dots that seemed faintly familiar; Sara realized they were tiny Yin Yangs scattered over the grey background and grinned.

“Sara?”

“Fine. Just checking the complexion.”

He’d come in by now, and stood behind her, sliding his big hands over her shoulders and giving them a squeeze.

“Perfect, as always. Did I ever tell you how much I like your eyes?” he bent to mutter in her ear. Sara watched their reflections and grinned a little, shaking her head. They were a study on contrasts on so many levels that she took a moment to count them: male to female, stocky to slender, blue eyes to brown, dark suit to light—

“Your eyes are the shade of a perfect glass of Cutty Sark, Acushla. The same rich amber depths and twinkly hints of enticement. They hold the same promise of intoxication although my biological reactions to them center around my heart as well as my head and stomach,” Grissom told her softly, his arms coming around her waist. Sara blushed, feeling the heat on her skin in an embarrassed response to his words. She blinked.

“Are you coming ON to me, Grissom?” she covered, flashing a grin at their entwined reflections in the mirror. He gave a thoughtful little lift of his eyebrows and pressed his cheek against hers, tickling her with the edge of his beard. As usual he smelled perfectly wonderful; clean and warm with a hint of soap. He winked at her in the mirror.

“Yes.”

“Good,” she replied, her lashes fluttering. “Because that kind of flattery is really effective. Keep it up; you could get lucky.”

“Oh I intend to,” Grissom assured her with a serious expression only slightly offset by the twinkle in his eyes. “I’m gunning for a jackpot.”

They left the house under the soft glow of a full moon; the crickets were in full chorus, apparently aware that Figaro was not on the prowl at the moment. Sara smiled at Grissom’s courtly attentions: holding her door open, helping her into the car, fastening her seatbelt. The nervousness in her stomach morphed into a sweet rumbling of delightful tension. Like a more soulful arousal, she thought, anticipation, refined through love and contentment. In surprise she realized that the man next to her was a part of her now; that a thousand intimate memories already bound him to her.

“You’re grinning,” Grissom observed, his glance flicking with approval over her white linen pantsuit and black silk blouse. Sara cocked her head in a gesture copied from him.

“So are you. Calamari on your mind?”

“Possibly, although it’s low on the list of my concerns at the moment.”

“Going to tell me what ranks higher?”

“In due time,” he chided, taking the austerity out of his words when he reached over to squeeze her fingers with gentle familiarity. Sara looked down at their hands on her lap, then glanced at his left one on the steering wheel. The passing streetlights illuminated the band on it, making the three imbedded diamonds glitter quickly in passing.  
Her stomach tightened again. Grissom hadn’t taken his ring off, hadn’t been without it since she’d bought it for him. After the initial comments of admiration at work, nobody on any of the shifts had asked anything further, accepting it as a part of Grissom’s daily appearance. Sara knew she couldn’t get away with that herself, and once whatever he gave her got slipped on her finger, sharp feminine eyes would spot the significance immediately.  
It was a sacrifice she finally felt prepared to make, Sara admitted to herself.

*** *** ***

Catherine looked up as Nick finally appeared beaming in the doorway of the Grille, and when she realized who was on his arm, her own smile flashed out. From the corner of her mouth she muttered to Warrick in a soft voice. “So, when did THIS happen?”  
Warrick was leaning back, his smile all-knowing. “Oh, about three and a half months back, give or take a few days. When we had to take that seminar on Sexual Harassment, Nick got paired up with Ms. Bates, and she laid him out but good quite a few times. Wish I’d had a camera, Catherine, because it was a sight to see. Looks like things have developed.”

“So I would guess," Catherine commented as they approached the table. Nick waved to Warrick, Catherine and Brass.

“Hey. Brought a date if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah well I hope you brought enough for everybody—“ Brass teased, and smiled at Judy, who went pink. Nick waggled a finger warningly at the other man.  
“Hey hey—no harassment talk like that. My girl’s liable to whup ass if—“

“Nick!” Judy squeaked. Warrick and Catherine grinned at each other.

“Sorry Sugar, uh, administer corrective discipline through non-aggressive intervention.” Nick amended, pulling out a chair for her. Brass considered this, and Judy, thoughtfully.  
“Gotcha.”

They chatted a while, keeping the conversation light as the waiter set drinks in front of them, circling unobtrusively. The warmth of the spring evening highlighted the main dining room; the crystal bowls of freshly cut flowers were gorgeous, and the linens held a snowy perfection on each table.

As the waiter returned and began to pull out his leather-backed order pad, Warrick glanced up to see Greg and Clem standing by the Maitre’d’s booth. Clem was smiling at something he’d said, and Greg had his hands deep in his pockets, bouncing on his feet. Warrick had to admit they both looked good, and that for the first time in a long while, Greg seemed genuinely relaxed. He nudged Catherine.

“More surprises—“ she grinned. Another waiter was leading the pair off, but Greg broke away to saunter over, his smile infectious.

“Oho! Party of five without Sanders. I’m deeply hurt.”

“And still on the night shift, Greggo. This is a Swing Shift gig," Nick explained. Greg nodded, his glance flickering over Judy; then he looked over his shoulder. Clem was already seated at a small table near one of the lakeside windows, looking sweetly elegant.

Everyone at the table grinned at Greg, who blushed a shade usually found only on gourmet tomatoes.

“I think you’re expected at a party of two, Hot Stuff—“ Catherine teased. 

Brass rolled his eyes. “Young love—better hurry, I’m guessing she still has a curfew.”

“Ah, actually . . ." Greg admitted, making both Warrick and Nick hoot a little. Judy caught Catherine’s eye and they shared a womanly empathetic shake of heads.

“Never mind, backfired joke. Go have fun and try hard to ignore the fact that your cynical colleagues will be here, studying and judging your every attempt to put the moves on your date—“ Brass mildly told him. 

Greg blinked, but his grin was softer this time.  
“It’s okay. “ he intoned softly, standing up straight. “Have fun, people, see you on Monday—“ and he headed over to Clem, who shyly smiled as he joined her at the little booth.

“Our little boy is all grown up,” Catherine sighed, watching him go.

Brass chuckled, looking back at the assembled group. “Now we only have to work on THESE two.”

“Dibs," Judy piped up, glancing at Nick, who pinkened a little as everyone chuckled.

*** *** ***

They walked up to the velvet rope, and Grissom tried to relax. Outwardly he was fine; composed almost, but inside the tingles of anticipation wreaked havoc. It was like Christmas or his birthday back when he was a boy—the thrill of the unknown coupled with the certainty of time moving forward in alternating moments of excruciating slowness or amazing speed. He lifted his chin and took a deep breath. Next to him, Sara bumped his shoulder with her own supportively.

“Good evening, how may I help you?” the slender blonde maitre’d intoned. Grissom stepped forward.

“We have reservations for eight-thirty I believe. Grissom?”

“Ah yes, right here, absolutely Mr. Grissom. If you’ll follow me, please—“ So saying, the maitre’d himself led them, moving swiftly in a diagonal through the crowded main dining room. Grissom kept his gaze on Sara’s slim back as she strode ahead of him, the linen clinging to her curves very nicely. They reached the other side, and went though the glass doors to the deck outside, settling in at an intimate table for two near the railing. Grissom helped Sara with her chair, then settled into his own, gratefully, glad to be off his feet.

Neither of them noticed seven pairs of eyes watching them.

“So.”

“So,” Sara smiled back, a trifle nervously, and at the husky sound of her voice, Grissom finally, finally relaxed. Leaning forward, he held her gaze for a moment, then spoke softly.

“Tonight, only one of us is permitted to be nervous, Sara. I had assumed it was supposed to be me and not you, but I could be wrong about that.”

“Sorry, I brought my own heavy dose with me,” Came her husky admission. Grissom looked down at the tablecloth, a soft little smile on his face, and Sara added, “it’s a good kind of nervousness though. More anticipation than fear—that’s good, right?”

“It’s very good, and it matches what I’ve got perfectly.” Before he could say more, the thin blond waiter appeared.

“Good evening folks. My name is Dante, and it’s my honor to serve you tonight. What can I get you to drink?”

Sara glanced at Grissom, who gave a half-shrug. “What would you like?”

“White wine. The house one is fine.”

“Make that two then, thank you.” Grissom told Dante, who nodded. The waiter slipped the leather-backed menus to them and walked away; Sara leaned back in her seat, her gaze never leaving the man opposite her.

“So.” She prompted.

“So,” he replied, smiling again. “Give me direction here, honey. Do you want the whole traditional ritual?”

Sara pretended to think it over, her hand stroking over the menu in slow sweeps. The move was elegant, sensual; Grissom watched her fingers move.

“Wellll, given the fact that I’m only planning on going through this once in my life, and that it’s taken a while for the two of us to get here, then yeah,” she looked up at him, eyes dark and sweet. “I want it all, Grissom.”

“And you shall have it,” He told her, reaching for that moving and bringing to his mouth to kiss.

Thirty feet away and in the dining room, complete silence reigned at the table. Finally Catherine spoke up cautiously.

“Did he just—kiss her hand?”

“He sure did. Man, never thought I’d see Grissom do that,” Nick muttered, a little stunned. Warrick nodded slowly.

“Yeah, well I think he’s had some practice lately.”

“For a while,” Brass agreed, his expression guarded and wistful. Nick frowned.

“So you’re telling me that Grissom and Sara have been . . . an item? Man, how long has THIS been going on?”

“February,” Catherine sighed.

“December,” Brass commented.

“October,” Warrick announced.

“Last May,” Judy corrected. Everyone looked at her and she blinked behind her glasses, going a little pink in the face. “They both filed change of address forms and new beneficiary paperwork about a year ago.”

“And you never said anything?” Catherine demanded, only half teasing; Judy shook her frizzy head.

“It’s not my business or my place.” She pointed out firmly in her soft little voice. “Your personal lives are just that—personal. Besides, I figured if they wanted you to know they would have told you.”

“Well now I’m just hurt.” Nick muttered again, frowning.

Catherine reached over and rubbed his shoulder soothingly. “Don’t be—think who we’re talking about. And besides, if it’s been a year, and they’re over there having dinner, all dolled up—“

Judy’s eyes widened in understanding; Warrick grinned widely and Brass rubbed his eyes with one hand as they each caught on to Catherine’s implication. 

Nick blinked. “—And we have a ringside seat. Oh yeah, this ought to be good.”

Greg turned his glance back to Clem and laughed softly. “Whoa, Grissom and Sara finally going public. I thought I’d be old and grey before THAT happened.”  
Clem gave a nod, adding a little roll of her eyes to agree. She slid the smaller purse-sized whiteboard towards Greg.

//I don’t think they even have a clue we’re here.//  
“Probably not,” Greg agreed, catching sight of the swing shift table. He gave them a thumbs up, and got nods in return. 

Clem looked slightly disapproving. //What was THAT all about?//

“Let’s just say that we know these two pretty well, and if they’ve finally gotten to the point of going out to dinner HERE, then it’s probably worth noticing. Don’t worry—“ he hastened to reassure her, “—THIS dinner’s pretty special too. Not about to forget that you know.”

Slightly mollified, Clem sipped her wine spritzer and took her board back, wiping it clean. Greg was glad Sara and Grissom were behind her, so he could keep his attention shifts to a minimum. “So, how’s the grilled salmon?”

In answer she tauntingly held out a bite on her fork; Greg’s eyes twinkled. “What? No peanut butter?”

 

Sara felt the warmth of Grissom’s left hand on top of hers. He hadn’t let go of it, and the little caress of his thumb along her own was comforting. The outdoor heaters kept the deck warm, and she loved the view of the lake, where the light of the full moon created a silvery path across the water.

“It’s gorgeous out here,” she ventured, shyly. Grissom nodded, his glance flickering out over the lake.

“Is it?”

“Gil—“ Sara chided, feeling exasperation tinged with so much love that it welled up within her. When she looked at him, his eyes reflected it back. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Love’s chemistry thrives best in equal heat,” he replied sagely, although he smiled through the quote. Sara arched an eyebrow and he added, “John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. Very profound and in this moment amazingly true.”

Their waiter returned, carrying a tray loaded with two plates; with a hint of dramatic flair he set the calamari in front of Grissom, and the spinach soufflé in front of Sara.

“If you need anything more, please let me know,” Dante murmured before slipping away.

Sara looked down at the meal, chuckling softly to herself. “A year ago we were eating buffet Mexican as I recall.”

“And I sat across from you just like this, wondering if we were about to make the biggest mistake in both our lives.” Grissom admitted in a low tone. “But I couldn’t hang in the balance anymore, honey. One of us had to have the courage to move forward. I’m glad it was you.”

Sara gave a small nod of acknowledgement, pleased to hear Grissom disclose that simple truth. He squeezed her hand gently before letting it go and tucking his napkin in his lap.

“Well, once you caught on that I wanted YOU, light side, dark side, good, bad, all of it, I think you more than made up for my initial proposition, Grissom.”

“To be honest, Sara, I’ll never regret giving up my emotional virginity to you—“ he teased, making her go bright red and laugh at the same time.

*** *** ***

“They look very cozy," Catherine accused, sipping her Kahlua with satisfaction. Warrick had an arm over the back of her chair, and Brass was working on his second cup of coffee. Dante came over to collect a few glasses.

“They’re talking about Hawaii now. I suggested this nice little hotel on the Big Island. Anyone here need a refill?”

“Naw thanks. Keep up the reports.” Nick added cheerfully. Next to him, Judy was leaning against his shoulder, toying with the last of her salad. She offered Nick an olive and he ate it.

“Hawaii—honeymoon perhaps?” Brass commented. Catherine shrugged, but Warrick nodded, concentrating on the couple through the window.  
“Makes sense—we sure as hell never have any seminars there. I’m sensing a build up to something.”

“Big time,” Catherine agreed. “And about time.”

“So you’re saying he’s going to pop the question tonight?” Nick demanded, looking from one face to another around the table. Brass, Catherine and Warrick nodded. Judy ate another black olive. “Oh man, I don’t buy that. This is Grissom we’re talking about. Mr. Cautious.”

“Yeah, well we talking money here, Nicky? Because I’d be willing to bet tonight’s tab that our former supervisor is about to get down on one knee.”

“I’ll see that action, man,” Nick grumbled, as much to contradict Warrick as anything else. “I do not see a ring in tonight’s events.”

“You’re so young. So foolish," Catherine sighed.

Out on the deck, Dante had cleared away the plates, and a lovely lull filled the evening. Sara was glad she had something in her stomach to counteract the giddiness. Idly she looked around, and suddenly the hard cold shock of recognition hit her as she made out five familiar faces looking her way. She blanched.

“Sara—" Grissom began, softly, urgently.

“Grissom—" she gurgled, blinking. He sighed. Very slowly he slid out of his seat and gave a little shake of his head, as if to clear it. He carefully shifted, and came around in front of her, blocking her view of the window and took her hands. Sara started, looking up at him. Slowly, Grissom got down.

“You’ve become a part of me, Sara, and I can’t function without you. As essential as air, as food, as life. You’re utterly amazing, strong and beautiful and I need you to be with me from now on, because despite all my years in blind, foolish denial you managed to love me anyway. I know now that you and you alone ARE the beat of my heart. Please, Sara, marry me.”

She looked at him. The breeze off the lake stirred his hair a little, but other than that Grissom was completely still, and if she hadn’t seen the rapid pulse along the side of his neck she might have thought he was a statue.

“Yes.” Came her choked, painful squeak, almost inaudible. Grissom blinked. Suddenly his big shoulders rose as he sucked in a breath, and carefully he fished under his jacket along his spine.

“Here.” He handed her a long manila envelope. Sara took it with nerveless fingers, still trying to process, to accept the amazing fact that she’d just agreed to marry Grissom.

Marry him. As in, happily ever after.

“Wh-what’s this?”

“Your ring.”

 

In the dining room, seven people stared wide-eyed across the tables. In tandem they all rose for a better look.

“What the hell is he handing her?” Catherine demanded of no one in particular.

Nick shook his head in disbelief. “No idea. And I STILL don’t see a ring.”

“Well, she’s jumping up and down now, looking pretty pleased—“ Brass observed, sipping more coffee and looking smug. “About to lay one on him—oh yeah, that’s a serious kiss alright.”

Out on the deck Grissom and Sara were entwined, utterly lost in each other and creating such a lovely picture that other diners were starting to stare. 

Catherine and Judy sighed. Warrick grinned.  
“Maybe they’re plane tickets to Hawaii.”

“Eloping? Over my dead body!” Catherine snorted. “That would be SO like them, but damn it, it’s not going to happen. For a once in a lifetime pair like them, they HAVE to do the whole nine yards.”

Clem and Greg came over, both of them grinning.  
“Was that what I think it was?” Greg demanded. Judy nodded, and Nick still looked skeptical.

“The consensus is that it was a proposal, but I have my doubts. No rock in sight.”

“So—let’s go see.” Greg suggested.

They looked at each other, and Catherine led the way, strolling across the dining room to the glass door leading to the deck. As they stepped through, Grissom finally caught sight of them, his expression slightly alarmed. Sara was still in his arms and let go of her reluctantly.

“Hey—so, what’s up?” Catherine brazened, looked at their two red faces with a grin of her own. Sara looked at Grissom, who managed a crooked smile.

“My blood pressure for one. What are you guys doing here?”

“Dinner—although it looks like you two had a better dessert than we did,” Brass smirked. 

Busted, Grissom rubbed the back of his neck, and Sara smiled widely. “Engaged. We got engaged, okay?”

“Yes!” Warrick hooted, pointing a finger at Nick, who grinned in defeat. Catherine and Judy both looked at Sara’s hand.

“Ring?”

“Right here.” Sara held up a dark sheet. Both women stared at it.

“That’s . . . an x-ray.”

“Yes, it is. And right there, that dark square edged thing lodged just beyond the esophagus is a one and a third carat ring we’ll be retrieving from the gut of our damn cat, who ate the thing this afternoon," Grissom balefully replied, holding the x-ray up to the lamp on the deck.

“Let me get this straight, your CAT ate your engagement ring?” Catherine demanded with a shake of her head. Sara nodded ruefully.

“Yeah. I have a lovely stand in for the moment though—"

And Sara held out her left hand, where a little green twist tie bread wrapper wire had been formed into a butterfly.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Greg glanced over at Clementine, feeling his breathing speed up a little at the sight of her in the passenger seat. The car was in the driveway; the porch light was still on, and snoozing away in the car seat in the back, Wyatt burbled softly, finally asleep.   
Clementine undid her seat belt and glanced at Wyatt, grinning. Her look to Greg was both amused and wry.

“Yeah, finally out. He usually drops off if I drive him around a while. Thanks for letting me do that before I got you home.”

Her look was easy to read as she reached back and stroked the baby’s soft cheek with a finger. The boy smiled reflexively in his sleep, and Greg reached back to tuck the fuzzy flannel blanket a little more snugly around the child’s shoulders. Leaning back between then seats alongside Clem brought him close to her, and he turned his head just in time to nearly rub noses with her.

“Not every woman would agree to end a date by helping put a kid to bed you know,” he pointed out, oh-so-aware of that generous mouth so close to his. Clem smiled, tipping her head. She barely brushed her lips against his, the soft tickle enticingly sweet, a flirtatious tease that turned the moment into something with both arousal and affection in it. Greg quivered, holding back to enjoy the sensation that much more. 

Clem’s mouth pressed a little more firmly on his, moving to shape a few words against his lips, and Greg felt an exhilaration running through his entire frame when he figured out what she was asking.

*** *** ***

Sara smiled, kissing Grissom’s bare shoulder. She remembered biting it a long time ago and the temptation rose up in her again, but he was sleeping now, and she felt he wouldn’t appreciate the surprise. They lay entwined on the bed, the French doors open as a soft breeze blew into the room, cooling it down a bit. 

She felt the languid content flow through her, the satisfaction of being in the right place at the right time. Grissom slept deeply, his heavy head on her collarbone, the tickle of his bearded cheek a comforting pressure. The room was quiet, the mood peaceful. She studied Grissom’s features, wondering not for the first time at how he seemed a marvelous blend of appealing charms. 

This man. Her lover, her betrothed, her future husband. 

Sara shivered, feeling the joy all the way down to her toes, amazed at the sentimentality of it all. She never thought of herself as the emotional type; sticking to business was more her style, gathering facts and organizing them into patterns of logic.

A pragmatic woman above all, she knew, and yet—Here in the face of it, from the deepest well within her, Sara felt that this moment was truly the beginning of Happily Ever After.

 

WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

FIGARO: went on to live to the ripe old age of sixteen. He terrorized the yard and gardens of the house on Casa Caliente with unrelenting focus, only turning his attention to tormenting DANTE once the puppy became part of the family. Figaro grudgingly accepted the arrivals of SARA-MARY (AKA Bingo) and JAMES THOMAS (AKA Squirt) growing to enjoy the children once he learned hanging around them was fun. He was the subject of the popular children’s book Grissom later wrote: Figaro the Fierce and the Luna Moth and had a beautiful photo of himself on the back cover. Figaro is buried in the back yard and has a marble statue of a cat over his grave.

AVRA and WILL SIDLE: continued running the Ocean Inn for seven years until Will succumbed to a fatal stroke one morning with his wife in his arms. Avra mourned him deeply. She invited TOM and the children to move to the Inn, which they did. Tom dated and eventually remarried, and when Avra died of leukemia nearly four years later she left the Inn to him with Sara’s blessings. Both Will and Avra were cremated and scattered into the Pacific they loved so dearly.

TRUMAN IBARRA and ‘VIVE: received the deed to the Valhalla Seton mine from Grissom. The mine was no longer viable, but the property it lay on was prime Real Estate adjacent to two highways; consequently through sales and contract deals Truman acquired a fortune. ‘Vive managed to talk him into seeing medical specialists who treated him for his seizures and nosebleeds. The resulting case study was the basis for a national investigation into CIA experimentation, and Truman, along with several other veterans were called to testify at the Senate hearings. The drugs used on Truman permanently damaged his body, but he refused to accept any settlement from the government, sending the money back to the VA hospitals instead. He and ‘Vive finally married, and he took her to Mexico several times to meet his mother. Truman kept in touch with Grissom, and eventually met OLIVIA and ALEX, befriending them and making peace with his heritage.

JOE MORGAN and DAISY BRANDTSTEIN of Sheba Nevada married. Sara and Grissom attended their wedding, and ran into MOLLY again, who manage to goose Grissom not once, but twice during the reception. She offered to host a bachlorette party for Sara, which became the now legendary “Sara and Sorcha go to jail with a bunch of hunky naked men” episode that to this day Grissom grumbles about. Joe and Daisy became foster parents to several children, adopting three.

CLEMENTINE ST. CROIX continued to date Greg Sanders for eight months after Grissom proposed to Sara, breaking up and making up with him twice during that time. Greg patiently assuaged her doubts and insisted she finish getting her degree. After her college graduation, he proposed.

In a happy coincidence of circumstance, Clem offered to buy Grissom’s old townhouse when he was putting it on the market; she, Wyatt and Greg moved in shortly afterwards. Clem worked for a private hotel security firm, eventually becoming manager and part owner of Fortress, Inc. She and Greg had two daughters, and raised all three of their children to appreciate cultural diversity and the Three Stooges. Wyatt went to Cal Tech, and his sisters to Pepperdine.

OLIVIA and ALEX De Montavallo lived well into their nineties, traveling and enjoying the freedom to be together. Alex published two books on art fraud and hosted a training video for Interpol on the subject. Olivia eventually did sell her gallery, and set part of the profit aside in a potential college fund for her son’s children. She and Alex welcomed the arrival of Sara Mary and later James Thomas with open arms, spoiling them heartily on every visit. As the years went on, both of them grew frailer, and eventually Olivia succumbed to respiratory failure, dying peacefully at home with Alex holding her hand. He lasted barely a year without her, passing away himself within a few days of the anniversary of her death. Both of them are buried at Garden of the Sea cemetery in Del Mar California.

SARA and GRISSOM finally married in a lovely small ceremony at the Ocean Inn after several more delays and misadventures including Sara’s bachlorette party, the parking lot car fire and the arrival of Dante. Grissom gave Sara the ruby heart pendant on their wedding night. He sold his townhouse to Clem and Greg, and put the majority of his household goods into storage, preferring the comforts of the bungalow on Casa Caliente. A few years and one rocking chair later, the eminent arrival of Sara-Mary put into action the need to remodel the house and add a second story. Grissom took semi-retirement at that time to supervise the reconstruction and begin to write his books Definitive Case Studies in Forensic Entomology, and the Handbook of Decay Timelines, both of which have become standards in their fields. He opted not to return to lab work, instead becoming a nationally renowned consultant and part-time manager of the body farm. 

Sara was promoted to head of the night shift and rose to the position beautifully. She worked through both her pregnancies and held the job through terms of three more sheriffs, eventually earning Ecklie’s commendations. She and Grissom traveled and loved and argued and grew older together, reaffirming and strengthening the bond between them through the years of their lives. They live as close to happily ever after as is possible for two strong-willed passionate people in love with each other.

DANTE, the Golden Retriever mix arrived at Casa Caliente in Grissom’s jacket pocket and lived 17 years with the family, adoring all of them, especially Figaro. He provided Bingo and Squirt with companionship and comfort, and became excellent at retrieving tennis balls shagged by Grissom and later Squirt. He accompanied Grissom on daily/nightly rounds at the body farm, and made an excellent foot warmer under the desk as Grissom worked on his book. Dante died peacefully in his sleep and was buried next to Figaro in the garden, under his own slab of marble.

SARA-MARY GUNDERSON (nee Grissom) became a writer of intricate crime/mystery novels, twice winning Edgar awards. She bought property near Lake Mead and lives there with her husband, Hal, a renowned pediatrician. They have a son and daughter.

JAMES THOMAS GRISSOM graduated from Berkeley and specialized in microbiological research. He currently works for the CDC as a field agent, traveling to hot spots and assessing outbreaks and threats. He is currently engaged.

**Author's Note:**

> Done! I've loved writing this story I truly have and I'm grateful folks seem to enjoy reading it! Thank you for all the feedback and kudos--I appreciate it more than I can say!


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